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Dwarven Folktales
This serves as a collection of Dwarven Myths and Folktales that create the core of the religion of Ur. Of Gods The Land is Formed In the beginning, there were three Gods Infinite: Ur, Ka and Tir. Their home was a forge - Lukutair - in the primordial sky. In this place, eons innumerable would pass as the three created small trinkets, jewelry and other objects of ornamentation, always for themselves and by themselves. As impossibly beautiful and unimaginably wonderous as these godly creations were, they had little use and would only gleam or shimmer for a short time before losing their lustre in the bored eyes of the Gods Infinite. Eventually, Tir grew tired of the trivial nature of their existance and suggested that they craft something great, something so large that there would always be more to see and more to explore, so vast that the three could never find every corner of the creation. Tir heated a new piece of metal in the hearth, and this would be the fiery Umda, the Foundation of the Land: the bowels of the world and the source of its warmth. Then, Tir gave the brightly glowing Umda to Ur, who struck it repeatedly with his heavy and powerful hammer to fashion out the Orsda, the Skin of the Land: the mountains and peaks and valleys. Lastly, Ur gave Umda, now coated in Orsda, to Ka. Ka quenched the creation in water, water which cooled and hardened the world and gathered in its deep valleys and depressions to form salty seas, sweet rivers and calm lakes. From the quenching rose clouds of steam, which became Vailda: the blue heavens, the soft clouds and the thundering storms. From the threeway perfection of Umda, Orsda and Vailda rose the World, Umosvair. When the world was crafted, the Gods Infinite traveled over the land to explore and see for themselves the beauty of their creation, but they quickly realized that the land, however majestic or serene, would tend to be shaped in similar forms throughout, and soon all caves seemed similar and all mountaintops appeared equally high and dull. Ka suggested that the three give the land something that would never be the same, that would always change and always find new ways to astonish, to impress and to awe. From a strange and white metal thread vibrating with energy, she twined and bent and cut out a creation that blosomed and flourished as soon as it was placed tenderly on the ground. It was the Primordial Tree, and it gave rise to all things green. Not to be outdone, Tir borrowed the metal and made his own creation, with legs and bowels and teeth. This was the First Primordial Animal, and it ate the plants and roots and grass that Ka had given to the world. Ur, impressed with the white metal, crafted his own walking creature, with claws and sharper teeth and muscle. This was the Second Primordial Animal, and it ate the offspring of the First. These creations would live in an eternal balance, where all dead things would give rise to the green life, which then would be the plants for the plant eaters, which then would be the meat for the meat eaters. Of Dwarves The Firesnake of Delfta In old times, when Erthir was barely a mining colony and the founder Dwarves were still mining in the dark depths of our ancestral homeland, there lay in the roots of the Delfta Mountains - the tallest peaks in the world - three Dwarven holds. Each of the three Dwarven holds had its own unique character. One was a Warrior Hold, the home of the bravest and boldest Dwarven fighters. The second was a Deep Hold, for its mines reached far down into the blackness of the great underworld. The last was a Hold of Wonders, where architects and craftsmen sculpted and carved the stone into impossible works of art. Each hold was proud and strong. So proud and strong, in fact, that they made every effort to demonstrate that they were prouder and stronger than the other two. The Warrior Hold fought more barbarians to brag about their deeds of bravery on the battlefield. The Deep Hold mined deeper, seeking for grander and more precious treasures still. The Hold of Wonders saw to it that yet bigger intricately detailed halls were Carved out from the mountain. Of course, it was all in vain. Each hold saw itself as the greatest, the proudest, the most worthy of the favour of the gods. And so it happened, that one day in its frantic mining, the pickaxes of the Deep Hold struck the wrong stone and its miners tumbled into the nest of a gigantic Firesnake, such that the world had not lain its eyes upon since the eras of myth and legend. The Firesnake was not pleased to see the intruders, and turned them into ash with a mere breath. Then, it slithered its way up from the mines, through the halls and out ito the bare daylight. In its path lay hundreds of dead, halls ruined and terror. The other holds did not act. They thought the Deep Hold had brought its misfortunes rightly upon itself. No aid was sent to the injured, no warriors to slay the beast. Content that one competitor was gone, the two unharmed holds continued with their game of braggery. Until the Firesnake turned on them. The Warrior Hold fought back, granted, but it was eventually broken and its strongest gates were shut to keep the monster out, and the rumours of their defeat in. The Hall of Wonders was thrown into despair as its creations crumbled from the whipping tail of the beast and the fire in its breath. Eventually, all three holds were in chaos, as the Firesnake settled itself atop the highest peak in the Delfta Mountains, Mount Delfta itself. To this land of terror and despair came one day Ermir, a skilled fighter with an adventurous soul. He was determined to kill the Firesnake atop Mount Delfta and thus sought out the Warrior Hold, which had the greatest expertise in the art of killing. Given the best counsel any Dwarf could receive on the matter, Ermir set out on a journey to Mount Delfta to confront the beast and slay it in a heroic battle. He died. Sigda was a merchant, who answered the call of her distressed home the Deep Hold and proclaimed that she would turn the Firesnake away through a great tribute of gold and jewels. The Firesnake gladly accepted her gold, and then swallowed Sigda whole after roasting her with its seering breath of fire. From far away came Ogdar, who had heard of the demise of these two heroes and believed that a direct confrontation with the Firesnake would be futile. Instead, the holds should rebuild, forgive and forget. The Hold of Wonders, most open to this suggestion, halted its efforts to rebuild when it seemed that the increased activity attracted the attention of the beast. Having now seen three plans fail, the holds were convinced that they could not on their own defeat their common enemy. Instead, with their pride broken and fear cooling their spines, they turned to each other, suggesting that a common force be gathered to expel the Firesnake from its home atop Mount Delfta. This was done. As the unified war party reached the peak, around which the long legless body of the Firesnake was resting, disorder ensued. The fighters of the Warrior Hold rushed ahead, abandoning their company. They were skilled, but no match for the raging fire of their opponent. The warriors of the Deep Hold had unmatched armour and weaponry, but without the skill of their breathren of the Warrior Hold to lead the way, they made clumsy errors, falling one by one to the vile beast. Lastly, the Dwarves of the Hold of Wonders withdrew entirely, terrified by the deaths of their companions and afraid that their glorious banners and mantles would be stained by their own blood, or burned. The three holds were confused. They had acted together! How could they still be so easily defeated by this admittedly larger, but still entirely outnumbered opponent? Asking themselves this question, it was then that they realized what must be done: they would abandon their old holds and build a new one, where the strengths of each old hold would not only stand beside each other, but be fused together, like the weaker metals of a stronger alloy in the forge. Interlaced, their weaknesses and distinct strengths would work together in a truly unified weave. The new hold became Delftahamr. From its magnificent halls marched warriors as skilled as those of the Warrior Hold, wearing armour as impervious to any force as that once crafted by the Deep Hold and with spirits high, high as the banners flying above their heads. Banners of the same rich colour and quality as those created by the Hold of Wonders. Every Dwarf in the war party believed that a hard fight was ahead, that many would die on the field of battle when fighting the Firesnake atop Mount Delfta, but instead the cowardly beast fled its mountaintop, so struck by fear that it was never seen or heard of since the first army of Delftahamr saw it slither away into the distance. Even the Firesnake, the primordial beast with its terrible fire, had realized that it was no match for the strength of the Dwarves. Egma and Egemer Egma and Egemer were the twin children of Lord Egir, who ruled justly and with wisdom over the Dwarven State of Tulla, a tract of then rich and prosperous, mountaineous land that has long since been abandoned. Egma and Egemer were complete opposites. Whereas Egma was a daughter of fire and steel, eager to earn her place amongst the canonized Ancestral Dwarves, Egemer was the son of words and thoughts. Because they differed so principally, and because both were deemed to have equal claims to the throne, the Assembly of the Wise decided upon the death of Lord Egir that they would rule periodically; each would be given a month to command and control the State of Tulla, and the throne would rotate between them in this fashion. The Assembly of the Wise was pleased with its wisdom, for it was deemed a very just and fair solution indeed. Thus the State of Tulla was thrown between the bold and proactive leadership of Egma for one month and the careful and restrictive rule of Egemer for another. On one issue in particular, their differences could not have been more pronounced. When autumn fell and the chilling northern winds began to howl around the mountaintops, just before the rains would turn cold and unforgiving, the farmers could still plant their last seeds in the earth and potentially reap a rewarding harvest to last the winter. Naturally, Egemer told the farmers to wait, to observe the weather, and not to waste their last seeds when they could instead plant them in spring, when there was no chance that they would freeze in the dirt if the winter came early. Unfortunately, his first decree on the matter caused a great famine, and yet greater displeasure, for the summer harvest had not been good enough to fill the granaries for winter, and autumn had been mild indeed. Another year followed, and the farmers, upset with Egemer's inaction, sought a decree from Egma. Egma, of course, told them to plant the last seeds in earnest, as soon as possible, without caring for either weather or wind. As it happened, this was a good decision, and the farmers were pleased, for the autumn was yet again mild. The Assembly of the Wise took note of Egma's wisdom and proclaimed that she should decide in all matters of agriculture. Unfortunately, not all years offered mild autumns. "Plant your seeds, plant them early, plant them now", Egma would proclaim, and the farmers would obey. Sadly, their seeds were wasted, and soon there was a shortage. Now in great distress, the farmers called upon the Assembly of the Wise to let Egemer decide. And so he did. The shortage of seeds was turned around quickly, and the farmers were yet again pleased. But soon, summer harvests failed and autumn harvests that could have been were thrown away. "Be careful, wait, wait until you know for certain that your seeds will thrive in the ground", Egemer would say. The Assembly of the Wise was upset! How could two so fundamentally different wisdoms both be so wrong? Had they not tried every option? Had they not walked down both paths? And how could the twin children of the great Lord Egir, who had ruled so wisely, both have such flaws? Eventually, they knew what to do: they would cut out Egma and Egemer from the agricultural decisions entirely, and leave the planning to the farmers. To the Assembly and to the farmers, this was a sound plan. History, however, would prove it unwise. Where two opposing minds found little ground, the many farmers would find none. Where the starving people would turn to the single throne for complaints and counsel, they would blame no less than all the farmers for the misfortunes of the harvests. Yet again, Dwarves were starving, and now the farmers were fighting in amongst themselves as well. Eventually, one single farmer was so displeased with the troubles and the fighting and the feuds that he took matters into his own hands. His name was Ulnor, and he confronted the Assembly of the Wise: "In your wisdom, you have thrown one wise counsel against another, only seeing the value of one action at a time, never seeing the whole, never seeing how they complete each other" "In your wisdom, you have thought that there can only be two courses of action, or none. You have not made decisions, you have not laid down new paths, you have picked them" "And in your wisdom, you have failed to see why Lord Egir was strong where Egma, Egemer and all the farmers are all weak. For what is the point of leadership if it is not leading, but fighting itself with every action? What is the point of leadership, when it is not one leadership, but many? What is the point of leadership, when the real power is not vested in those entrusted with it? Why is it that the Assembly of the Wise is the ultimate source of all our decisions?" The Assembly of the Wise was furious, for it was much wiser than Ulnor, the farmer. It had more rights than Ulnor. It was the source of wise decisions, whereas Ulnor knew nothing of leading. But the people did not support the Assembly of the Wise. It supported Ulnor, and the loud chants of the Dwarven citizens drowned the city with his name. No matter how many decisions the Assembly of the Wise ever picked again, it was always Ulnor who made them, who thought them out, and he did this by listening to the wise counsels of both Egma and Egemer, weighing them together to strike a careful balance. And the people were pleased, and for the rest of Ulnor's reign, not a single Dwarf would starve again. The Tale of Vuulkar The time after the Fall of Urahamr was one of long journeys into unknown lands for the Dwarves. Very few permanent settlements were ever dug into the mountains, and fewer still grew into respectable holds, let alone cities or Era Capitals. There was one distinct exception, however, and this was the city Vuulkar. Vuulkar lay in the mist-veiled, hazy Fella Mountains, a faraway range in distant lands. Lands which no one - these days - knows how to reach anymore. The Dwarves of Vuulkar did not pick the steaming, broken peak of Stukar as their home without a reason. Most of the settlers who sought this peak in the Fella Mountains as their new home were drawn there by the rumours of a new, mysterious power. The first Dwarves who reached Stukar had been on an errand entirely unrelated to the volcanic steppe on which they were supposed to spend the night. As the sun descended down the stairs of its high watchtower in the sky, and the stars blinked into wakedness, they became aware of a steady and powerful pulsatile beat in the ground. Eager to discover the source, the Dwarves abandoned their camp and went deep down into the hot and smoking caverns of Stukar. In the very deepest roots of the mountain, where the rocky walls of the caverns were sometimes scorching hot to the touch, the Dwarves found an ancient and powerful Wonder. A beating heart, made entirely out of glowing heated metal, as large as a stray boulder and suspended from the ceiling and walls of a large chamberlike cavern. The Dwarven adventurers were awestruck, and also terrified. What magic could possibly accomplish something so unnatural, and to what end? There were arguments, and these turned sour and angry, and then violent. The leader of the Dwarves in support of staying to further explore the cave system drew his sword as a warning. It burst into flame, an intense orange and yellow fire that danced along the sword with cascades of sparks darting away as the it was turned about. The other Dwarves, whether they had previously wanted to stay or not, knelt before the wielder of the flaming sword, impressed and awed as they were by the mighty sorcery. The wielder Dwarf was named Karr, and he was promptly elected King of Stukar, there and then. Karr claimed that he could hear the voice of the owner of the Heart of Stukar, as the mystical metal heart was called. The owner was the mountain itself, he told his growing flock of followers, and the Stukar mountain wished that the Dwarves would build a great city in its stony bowels. In honour of their King, the Dwarves named this nascent city Vuula Karr ("Karr City") which then became Vuulkar over time. The name of the city was not the only thing to change however, as over the years the Dwarves of Vuulkar underwent a most remarkable transformation. The natural light of the inside of Stukar mountain had long made colour distinction difficult for the Dwarves, but there was no doubt that their beards and hair were, year by year, turning decidedly more red and orange. Bright, almost unnatural red and orange. Since this hair colour was uncommon for a Dwarf - but held highly - it was an admired sight in other Dwarven cities whenever anyone from Vuulkar came to visit. "Look at that bright orange hair", some would say, "that Dwarf of Vulkaar looks like he is a living, burning flame himself!" And a bright flame they were, the Dwarves of Vuulkar! Their culture became fashion, their banners became legend. Far and wide, Dwarves spoke of Vuulkar as the rising star of the Dwarven race, the successor and heir to Urahamr, destined to define an Era. How great a flame they were! Their halls and tunnels were the largest of their day, greater than anything that had been carved out of the stone before. Even Dwarves, used to constant digging in the depths to carve out Wonders from the stone, were awed by the chambers and grand underworld realm of Vuulkar. The mountain of Stukar would allow its residents to work tirelessly, and the rock was strong and firm but gave way to pickaxe, hammer and chisel reliably and predictably. What a furious flame they were! Four times was Vuulkar attacked, and four times the city beat back the assailants in great victories. The Dwarves of Vuulkar were terrifying to face on the field of battle, for their eyes were glowing fiercely orange and their weapons were seering hot, scorching through skin and bone and melting any shield or sword that was trying to brace against their blows. But the transformation of the Vuulkar was not without its downsides, and Karr, the King, never knew clearly what the Heart of Stukar planned. His servitude to the ancient magic would be his fall. On a fateful night, the deepest caverns and crevices of Stukar were filled with a dark, ominous smoke that rose slowly through the mountain. Not only was this smoke choking and unbreathable to any living creature, it was also followed by a hellish volcanic heat that was unbearable even to the fire hardened Dwarves of Vuulkar. The city was drowned in smoke and fire, its residents trapped and killed by the thousands as Stukar strangled and burned its victims in the night. Karr, terrified and desperate, ran with the last survivors to the chamber where the Heart of Stukar still hung from the ceiling. He asked why his people was suffering, was dying in the thousands at the hands of Stukar: "We are a fire! A bright, great and high flame! Why must you cast us down in our prime?" The mountain answered slowly, with almost a hint of pity in its voice: "A flame you were, O unfortunate! But it is with you like it is with all flames bright, great and high" Karr did not understand, Karr did not see, Karr did not want to. So the mountain continued. "All flames bright, great and high are glorious, but they do not last long before they turn to the blackest ash and are forgotten" "You do not deserve to rule or build or prosper if you bow to the first short-lived fire you see, if you kneel to miracle flames and the sudden Wonders that you cross. Those were the choices of the first Dwarves to come here. But such is not your destiny and your road is longer" "Turn your back on Vuulkar and change back from the Dwarves you are to the Dwarves you will always be and should always be, just as Vuulkar will change back from what the city it is to what such a city will always be, must always be" The followers of Kar looked from one another and wondered, "what will Vuulkar always be?" Stukar answered: "Vuulkar was a flame bright, great and high, and such flames do not last long before they turn to the blackest ash and are forgotten" "Vuulkar will always be ash" Karr and the survivors fled Vuulkar, and left it to become the blackened ash it was destined to always be. Meanwhile, destiny fled into Vuulkar. Time saw to it that the city was forgotten, the roads to the mountain Stukar left untrodden and unmaintained. Soon, the name of Vuulkar began to change again. It turned slowly but steadily from Vuulkar to Vukar, and then to Vukr. Vukr, which means "ash". Agna and Tegir Long before the dawn of Erthir and the Prophecy of Ur, the Dwarves lived in single, isolated holds throughout the world. In one of these holds lived Tegir, an old miner, with his young daughter Agna. Tegir's wife had died giving birth to Agna, and he had fathered no other children. Agna would help Tegir in the mines, walking behind him with tools and other materials required in his particular craft. They would hold a lantern each, Tegir a larger and stronger lantern and Agna a smaller and paler lantern. This pair of lights would be easily recognized by the Dwarves of the hold and many times they would say, "there walk Tegir and Agna, lantern after lantern, a good and watchful father with his loyal and worthy daughter!" One day, while working in a deep and dark shaft, Tegir fell a long distance before reaching the bottom, where he appeared to lie broken upon the rock. To her horror, Agna received no answer when she cried after him: "father! Tegir! O father, answer me!". No help came. But in spite of the silence that followed her cries, she thought that she could see the light of Tegir's lantern move away slowly, as if he had raised himself from the fall and walked a few steps. Perhaps he was still alive? Perhaps he could not hear her? "Tegir! Father!", she cried as the lantern light grew fainter as it disappeared into a tunnel at the bottom of the shaft. Agna quickly climbed down the deep shaft, bringing her lantern with her to illuminate the way ahead so that she would not fall like her father. Having set foot on the hard bottom of the pit, she could not see the body of her father - he must still be alive! And, in the distant end of the tunnel ahead of her, was the faint light of his lantern. She ran, heedlessly, after the light. For every stride she would make to reach the lantern and her father, the light seemed to slip further away from her, flowing in behind a corner or into another tunnel deeper still. A realization began to grow in her mind that she may never catch the elusive lantern and her father Tegir, but she paid no mind. In this world, there was no one else she cared about more, and no one else that truly cared about her. Deeper and further into the mountain they went, time diluting itself as a power and her strife to hunt down the light growing ever more dominant. Agna thought she could feel the air turning warmer and the rock fuming with steam, but to her it did not matter. Eventually, the guiding light of the lantern far ahead of her became difficult to see through the warm mist and fire, but she pressed on, unmoved even by the ocean of hot molten rock that crashed its slow but unrelenting waves against the stony shore upon which she ran. "Father!" she would cry, but now the sound was less like that of her voice and more like a distant echo, a reminder of something passed, something long gone and forgotten. At the end of the shore lay a spiral staircase built out of large steps of glassy rock. Her father's lantern was above her, ascending up the stairs at a rapid pace, but she thought she could see more than just the light of the lantern! Up there, she thought that she could see the faint image of her father Tegir, walking determined in this strange land of myth and legend. Agna could not halt now, could not abandon the chase now, not now when she had at last glimpsed the image of Tegir. She climbed, she jumped and the threw herself up the stairs, up towards the light of the bright lantern of her father, while holding her own paler lantern steady. She thought she could see others as well, beside her, ahead of her and behind her, but her attention was not diverted. Eventually, the air turned cooler and a strong wind followed her in the ascent. The wind only grew stronger, and with it came sparks and smoke and thunder, and eventually it seemed to Agna as though she was floating, flying, rushing towards the millions of faint lights above her. The stars, she thought, the stars! But the stars were not her destiny, and even though the others around, ahead and behind of her seemed to be headed there, she saw that the light of her father's lantern was turning elsewhere. The stairs were gone, now there was just the cool night air around her, and the arcing horizon ahead: and just beyond that horizon, just beyond her reach, she could see the faint light of her father's lantern dimming, disappearing, floating down beyond the curvature of the world. And so Agna and Tegir would go on. They would hold a lantern each, Tegir a larger and stronger lantern and Agna a smaller and paler lantern. This pair of lights would be easily recognized by the Dwarves across the world and many times they would say, "there walk the Sun and the Moon, lantern after lantern, a good and watchful father with his loyal and worthy daughter!" : Note: The Dwarves believe that the souls of the dead are sent on a journey through the darkest depths of the world to eventually become part of the vast oceans of fire and molten rock below; from there, they are allowed passage upwards through the great fire mountains and then out onto the night sky. A volcanic eruption allows the ascendance of souls to the heavens above, where the traveling dead end their journey and become stars.